From Shells They Appear
by Nyirria
Summary: Nathan's not just a dual-wielding machete machine, but a fragile, porcelain seashell as well. And John jumps in to try to patch up the fallen pieces.


Nathan looked at the wooden box he had laid in his lap, the only sound around him was the swishing of water by his feet as he sat on the rocks near the camp. He let his fingers run over the slightly coarse wooden lid, and his two fingers quickly unfastened the latch that kept it shut. Under it, small, neat rows and columns of tiny shells were laid upon thick patches of pure cotton, and a thin glass frame protected them from outside objects.

He sighed as he raised the glass cover, picking one shell from its place with care. Nathan held the small object close to his chest and stared down at the water rippling around his bare feet. "I miss you terribly, you know. I still kept this set you've collected just for me, because I…you were my first ever, sappy, romantic love."

Nathan lifted the shell up to the sun and he squinted at the item. "This was…what did you say it was, Jem? It was a conch, I know, but…a fighting one," he said, twisting the shell, letting the sunlight revolve around its porcelain body. "You said it was just like me, a bold—yet shy—little fighting conch. But of course, you just had to say '_little_' because you were a blasted 6' 3", and I a short 5' 10" compared to you."

The Englishman smiled softly at the memories that flashed into his mind, the ones where Jem had always managed to make fun of his height in countless situations. He clutched the conch back to his chest and let go of a shaky breath. "I…I know you told me, before you went, to mourn for you and move on, then go out and find…a-and find someone else to shower my love with. But you didn't tell me how hard it would be, to move on…not like you would know how to cope with it in the first place…"

A hot stream of tears fell from his eyes and soaked small areas of the cotton, and Nathan hurriedly rose a hand to rub the salty droplets off his cheeks. "Jem…I wish you were here. You, and your overly sweet pet names, old romance comedy tapes, and your nauseating poems of declarations of love, I miss all of that. What I would _give_, to touch you one last time…"

"Touch who one last time?"

Nathan nearly dropped the box into the water and he turned around, trying to take on an angered look, but failed to do so as a new rain of tears fell from his glassy eyes. He quickly wiped his eyes with a clenched fist and turned away from the source of the question. "It's **none** of your business, Morgan…"

The tears that ran down Nathan's eyes certainly smeared the smirk off his lips, and John rushed to his side to sit next to the crying Brit. He shrugged it of that his boots would get wet, and wrapped an arm around Nathan's shoulders in an attempt to console. "Nate? Alright, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make a laugh out of personal matters. It wasn't on purpose, I _swear_."

Nathan chuckled, shaking his head as he let the tears flow freely, and lightly cringed when John took his forefinger and rubbed his tears away. "It's fine, I knew you didn't mean to," he said, his voice somewhat rough from the crying.

John blinked at Nathan and let his arm fall from his shoulders, leaning back with his arms supporting him. "So, uh…if it doesn't give too much grief, who were you talking to? It seemed like you were talking to a ghost, if that's appropriate."

Nathan smiled feebly and looked down at his hands that gripped the shell box. "Well, I guess telling someone would actually _relieve_ me of some of that said grief," he muttered, "His name was Jem, and, uh…we were in a relationship for a strong, seven years. We were planning to reach eight but…earlier, we found out that he was diagnosed with an advanced brain tumor, incurable, but the treatment we paid for slowed down the process.

"It gave us some time to do the things we wanted to do together, before either of us died. We went on an air balloon ride, we trekked the Great Wall of China, we explored the catacombs under the very streets of Paris…anything we could do before our time together ran out," Nathan choked on that last word, and he felt like crying again, but he willed himself not to. "We got married two years before his death, and those were the _happiest_, as well as the _saddest_, days of my life with him."

Nathan looked down at the box again, letting his hands outline the edges of the nicely cut wood. "This was a gift I received from him on my 23rd birthday, said he started collecting these right after we went on our first date, saying that I was the only person he'd taken seriously in a relationship before…and he willed to make it perfect.

"But the world's a game that's never played fair, and I've learned so the hard way."

John looked down at the wooden box-chest in Nathan's lap, and spotted a small, organized engraving on the side of it. "Is that a message, on the side of this shell collection box?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, it is," Nathan said, closing the glass frame and locking the latch tightly before lifting the box to level with their eyes.

"'_Nathan. Now, I know you just adore how I call you by your birth name, but this is the day you turn 23, and I'll have you know I've collected 23 shells just for you, each one has their official names and all that, of course. I never thought I'd be ever doing little things like this for a lover, or even a partner at that, but I just know, that you're the one for me. No one else. And I hope you feel the same. Jem_.'

John watched as Nathan forced himself to swallow a sob, and opened his eyes to read the last line, carved into the wooden box in cursive.

"'_It's you and me, forever and always_.'"

Nathan set the box down and screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows scrunched, nearly touching the other. His fingers gripped the chest so tight, his knuckles were a bare white, and he raised it so it was just over his head. "It's about time I move on, and this is one, big step towards the process of doing so," Nathan said, inhaling a deep breath as he opened his eyes to look up at engraved message.

He threw the box far down the water, and John's eyes widened at the flying projectile, even more so as the box unlatched, spilling its contents into the rushing water. The Australian examined Nathan's facial expression, and only saw him look up at the blue sky that always seemed to mock those with remorse. The Brit held no look of such remorse, however.

"That was– " John started.

"– rash?" Nathan interrupted, finishing John's sentence with a grin. "Might have been, but it was necessary. And…Jem would've wanted me to do just that. He would have never wished for me to dwell on missing him and his old, mawkish antics. He would have wanted me to find some handsome bloke and fall in love, head over hells again."

John blinked at that, and got the crazy idea of taking Nathan's hand in his. "Really?"

Nathan nodded, and John grasped the Englishman's right hand with his left, observing the younger man's face as he enlaced their fingers. Nothing was what happened on Nathan's face, as John's heart was thumping away in his chest. What was he doing, anyway? He wasn't sure, but he knew damn well that holding Nate's hand was right somehow.

They were quiet for a few minutes, but John could've sworn that hours had passed them by, like the ripples by their feet. Nathan did not look elsewhere but the crystal water, made blue by the sky overhead, but the grin from earlier was still lingering on his lips. He wasn't too keen on why John was holding his hand, and usually by now he would've jerked his hand back, throwing an insult at the Australian all the while.

But he didn't, and only now did he turn towards the ex-soldier, the grin now faded into a faint smile. And he whispered.

"Are you going to be my second?"

John looked at him long and hard, trying to figure out what to say to that, and when he did, he had no objection to saying it out loud.

"Only if you'll let me."

* * *

**A/N **: A little something that came up last night, finished while I ate my breakfast.


End file.
